


A Breath of Life

by AlexTheShipper



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Stiles, Dead Derek Hale, Fluff, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Romance, Rescue Missions, Resurrected Derek Hale, brought back to life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 16:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20678777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexTheShipper/pseuds/AlexTheShipper
Summary: Derek dies, and of all the people to die in this hellmouth Derek is the one who least deserves it, and Stiles isn't about to stand around and let him stay dead, not when Peter, and Kate, and Gerard all came back.





	A Breath of Life

Derek wasn’t supposed to die. Not like this. Kate shouldn’t have come back. Stiles shouldn’t have had to watch him die. Shouldn’t have been strung up, helpless as the life bled out of Derek’s eyes. It doesn’t matter that he took Kate down with him. It doesn’t matter that Stiles lived because of his sacrifice, the only thing he could think of was the image of Derek, coughing up black blood in the moment that he thought he’d won.

Stiles goes home numb, it feels like there is nothing inside of him. Every time he blinks, he sees Derek’s lifeless eyes. Every breath he takes is a breath Derek didn’t. Someone is with him, ushering him into his bedroom, whispering words that are probably meant to comfort him. Stiles can barely hear it.

It isn’t until after they leave that Stiles realizes, Derek doesn’t have to stay dead. No one ever stays dead in this town, and if anyone deserved to come back it was Derek. Kate didn’t deserve to come back, Gerard didn’t, Peter didn’t, and they all managed it. Derek can do it too.

He just has to figure out how. It takes a week, sleepless nights spent flipping between stolen books, and untrustworthy websites. He works hard, separating truth from fiction, trying to find something that will work without him selling his soul.

Eventually he finds a list, and he knows deep inside that it will work. Believes it with all of his being, and somewhere inside him, something sparks.

He prints out the list, he won’t need it but the paper copy makes him feel better.

Then he gathers the things he’ll need laid out on his bed in neat lines. A flashlight from the downstairs drawer and a pair of extra batteries. Two coats, his own and one liberated from the back of his dad’s closet. A blanket from the hall closet, folded tightly. A quarter, stolen out of the old swear jar that had found it’s way onto his fathers desk. Snacks, and bottled water, as much as he can gather. A picture of the Hale family, stolen from the glovebox of the Camero. A white rose, the only blossom on the old rose bush that mom used to tend to.

Everything disappears into a backpack, and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. It’s already late spring, and his list says that’s the perfect time to bring someone back. He’ll only have to wait until tomorrow afternoon.

He stashes the backpack in the closet, and falls asleep for the first time in days. He has a plan.

He wakes up just after noon, grabs a pen and a paper and scribbles a note for his dad.

_Had to do something, be back soon. Love you. _

He signs his name, grabs his hiking boots, and drives to the Hale house, trying not to think about all the ways he could be wrong, all the ways this could go wrong.

It’s just after noon, and the sun is hot against his skin, beating down on him as if it’s only goal was to make him, personally a sweaty disgusting mess. He ignores it’s attempts, grabs his bag, and walks into the woods.

He doesn’t look back at the burnt out shell of the Hale house, he doesn’t run forward, he walks, careful of his steps. His eyes automatically track every bird that flits fast him, but he can’t forget why he came here, can’t forget Derek dead in the ground. 

It doesn’t take long for him to grow tired, still he walks, because he knows Derek wouldn’t stop if it was him. Derek wouldn’t ever give up. He keeps walking until the sun has set, and the woods grow dark and menacing. He keeps walking until he’s stumbling every step, barely able to see his nose through the inky blackness.

He looks left, and sees something, something way off in the distance. There’s a sort of glow, white and gentle. He walks towards it, and it’s as if the woods come alive, suddenly he isn’t stumbling along but being tripped. When wind rustles the leaves of the trees it sounds like laughter. Every vine seems intent on winding itself around him, every root wants to trip him.

He does trip, once, twice, a third time. It doesn’t stop him, he picks himself up, dusts himself off, and walks towards the light. It’s the image of Derek, stamped in his mind that keeps him going. A memory, one of the only times he’d ever seen Derek laugh, his smile wide and bright as the sun.

“I miss you Sourwolf.” Stiles whispers, the wind brushes by him and for a moment he imagines that it will take the words for him, carry them ahead. “We need you up here, fighting the good fight. I need you up here, need somebody sane in this town.” He trails off, a million reasons for missing Derek run through his head. “I need someone who’s seen Star Wars, even if you pretend you don’t like it.” Stiles decides, it’s a stupid reason, in a sea of decent ones. Still, it feels important.

The soft white glow disappears in the moment he stumbles into a clearing, and as his list instructed, he turns on the flashlight, and sits down. Something inside him tells him that now that he has made it here, the forest will protect him, will keep him from harm.

Somehow, he falls asleep. He wakes up to sunshine, and turns off the flashlight. Placing it in the backpack as he attempts to blink the brightness out of his eyes.

In front of him, having grown overnight, is a ring of mushrooms. They seem to give off a light all their own, despite the brightness of the sun. He doesn’t dare step inside before he’s ready.

First, he eats. He drinks. He leaves the rest of the food beside the fairy circle, resting on the ground. It’s almost time, and his hands tremble as he reaches into the backpack for the quarter. He doesn’t know if he’s more excited or afraid. Still he stands up, hoists his bag onto his shoulder, and steps into the fairy ring.

He places the quarter exactly in the center, tails up.

“I’m coming for you Derek.” He promises, there’s no breeze to carry his words, and there’s a sensation of loneliness, as if no one heard him. The quarter disappears, swallowed up by the ground. Stiles ignores the uneasy feeling settling in his gut. He pulls on his dad’s jacket, shuts his eyes tightly, and takes a deep breath.

He pictures the ground moving up, swallowing him whole, but he feels nothing. His eyes stay tightly shut as he tries another approach. He pictures himself sinking, first his feet, then his ankles, then his knees, slowly consumed by the earth. He doesn’t dare to open his eyes until the smell of smoke fills his nostrils.

He breathes out, and his breath creates mist in the air. They weren’t lying when they said it would be cold here. Stretching out in front of him is a tunnel, shrouded in darkness. It seems to go on endlessly into the dark. He pulls out the flashlight, replaces the batteries and takes the first step forward. There’s a very long way to go, and he walks quickly.

The chill of the air settles into his bones and he pulls the jacket tightly around him. Time seems to warp, and he could not tell you how many steps he took before the tunnel opened up to reveal a house, a tiny thing, it looked almost cottage like, picturesque. It felt as if he’d walked forever to reach it, but also as if he’d just begun his journey.

The house doesn’t look like it belongs here, and he steps up to the porch and knocks on the cheery looking door. It swings open nearly instantly, and he forces himself not to jump back, not to flail an arm out.

A dark haired woman stands before him with eyes that glow a thousand colors at once. Stiles is careful not to stare, his gaze flitting around the entry way to see whatever it is she’s hiding behind her door.

It looks like a living room, a nice area rug, a coffee table, completely normal living room things. He’s not sure why he expected anything else.

“Well, did you bring me something pretty?” She asks, and her smile is just a bit too wide, revealing just a few too many teeth. Stiles takes a breath, holds his ground, and pulls the rose out of the side pocket of his bag.

“I do.” He smiles at her, as kindly as he can manage, handing the rose over. She smiles back, a little more genuinely than she had, and takes the rose. She moves to the side, allows him into her startlingly normal home.

“Come in, have something to eat.” She offers, and he steps inside, ignoring the sense of dread that settles into a gut. Something about this woman screams predator, tells his instincts to run. He sits on the couch.

“Thank you for your hospitality.” He says, trying to remember every lesson on manners he’d ever been taught. “I’m afraid I’m just not hungry today.” He shakes his head, as if it were a shame.

“Nonsense.” She gestures to a bowl of candy resting on the coffee table. “Please, help yourself.” He nods agreeably, but doesn’t reach for the bowl. Notes the scratches on the coffee table, seemingly made by inhuman hands.

“I’m from California, you know.” He says, and she smiles at him, settling down on the chair across from him. 

“I haven’t been to California in, centuries.” She says, wistfully. “Tell me about it.” He does, careful not to mention anyone by name. They talk for what feels like days, hours, decades, years, eons, minutes. It’s impossible to know how long he sat there, rambling about the sunset over the preserve.

“And then I decided I wanted to be a vegetarian.” He’s explaining, not entirely sure how he got onto the topic. She leans in close, voice near a whisper.

“I’ve been a vegetarian for decades.” She tells him, and he tries not to look too surprised. “Don’t tell anyone, but the only reason is because I swore off eating human flesh, and nothing else tastes quite as good.” She smiles, and her teeth seem slightly sharper than before, the secret whispered as if between trusted friends. Stiles swallows back the nausea and fear, forces a smile onto his lips.

“The only reason I care so much about health foods is because my dad’s doctor side he needs to eat better, if not I would eat junk all day every day.” He says, as if it’s the same as her secret. She accepts it, reaching out a hand with too smooth skin, and holding out a figurine. It doesn’t look like anyone in particular, and simultaneously seems to resemble every person he’s ever met.

He takes it. “Thank you.” He bows his head respectfully. “You’ve been too kind. I think I need to go now though. It was nice meeting you.” She smiles at him, leads him to the door, he waves as he leaves and breathes a sigh of relief when the house disappears into the inky blackness behind him.

The flashlight seems dim as it fights against the darkness, illuminating only the step directly in front of him. The tunnel stretches out endlessly, and the chill in his bones has Stiles shaking as he stumbles forward. Exhaustion drags at his eyelids making his legs heavy as he shuffles along.

Eventually he has no choice but to lie down against the wall of the tunnel and sleep. He wakes up suddenly, there’s no sound, only the same still silence that had been present before he went to sleep. He climbs to his feet, flashlight held like a weapon as he walks forward.

The tunnel ends suddenly, after moments that stretched like the entire past of the universe was settled in this open area. Stiles puts his flashlight, noting that food had appeared in his bag after he visited the woman, food he could not eat if he ever wished to leave this place.

There is a woman, the same woman, standing in front of him, between him and a river with water that doesn’t look like water. Stiles does not ask how she beat him here, simply pulls out the figurine he was given waving it in greeting.

“Hello!” He calls, despite the fear she causes to settle in his gut it’s a relief to see someone. She reaches out a gnarled hand, and he gives her the figure. The rose from his mother’s bush is placed in his waiting hand, she smiles with crooked, but dull teeth, and steps out of his way.

A boat sits behind where she stood, and Stiles decides the best course of action is to pretend it was there the whole time, this isn’t a place you want to question. He clamors into the boat, all long limbs and haphazard motions. In the moment that he looks for a paddle to row the boat is starts moving of it’s own accord. The fog rolls in around him as if attempting to swallow his little boat whole.

The shore disappears on both sides, somehow, he knows, it’s better that he can’t see. 

Finally, the boat grinds to a stop and he jolts forward, catching himself on the front of the boat. He drags himself out, and jumps from the edge of the boat onto dry land, cautious of the strange water. The fog hangs thick and heavy around him, it feels like he’s physically moving it as he forces his way further from the river.

He isn’t alone, wading through the fog. Around him there are ghastly beings, some human looking, some less so. They stumble around blindly, silent screams on their lips. There isn’t a sound other than the heaviness of his breathing, and he finds himself humming tunelessly just to fill the emptiness of the air.

The sound seems to stick in his throat making his skull vibrate before it fades into nothingness. It’s only a little better than the all-consuming silence.

He’s been walking for some time when he realizes that he’s getting close, he doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. It puts a spring in his step as he pushes forward, hope swirling in his lungs. He stumbles, and then suddenly he’s there Derek, right in front him.

He wants to call his name, wants to shout out and beg him to come back, but he catches the word before it can escape the prison of his teeth.

“Hello.” He says instead, voice as soft as a prayer. Derek doesn’t react, and he tries not to let it break him. Derek’s listening, he has to be. “You won’t believe what I went through to get here.” He blurts, and the words flow as he explains, the woman, and the river. Derek turns eventually, unseeing eyes boring into his skin, head tilting as if listening to something far away.

“Oh.” Stiles thinks, maybe he should tell Derek about life, instead of this place. “I want to tell you a story.” He decides. “It’s about a grumpy old man in a 24-year-old body, and a stupid trespassing teenager, and his dumber friend.” He leaves out names and details as he talks about the day they met, the things that came after, the story flows from his lips like water from a stream.

“You’re alive.” Derek mutters, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Stiles nods eagerly, he never expected to miss eyebrows so much but he has. “What’s it like? The other place?” Stiles knows he means above, the waking world, the land of the living.

“It’s green, and the air is clear enough you can see for miles on a good day. We have cities and towns that interrupt the land with cement and skyscrapers made of steel and glass.” Stiles explains, tries his hardest to describe a busy city, and a blade of glass, and the feeling of walking without the fog clinging to your skin.

Derek wraps his arms around himself and Stiles stops mid word fighting a smile. “Are you cold?” He asks, Derek nods, still the strong silent type even here. Stiles slips out of his dad’s coat, giving Derek all the body heat he had, and slipping into a familiar red hoodie. Derek is cold as a corpse when his hand brushes against Stiles, and Stiles tries hard not to think about empty eyes, and a quiet burial in the woods. 

“You know me.” Derek says, staring at the red hoodie brow furrowed. It isn’t a question, it’s a statement of fact.

“Yes.” Stiles answers anyway. “You’re Derek Hale.” Derek smiles, mouth moving around the shape of the name, as if tasting it. His smile looks alive, and it makes Stiles want to sing, and dance, and cry all at once.

“Derek.” He whispers to himself, testing it out. Stiles beams at him, fumbling to pull out the Hale family photo. Derek takes it eagerly, all signs of wariness fading from his posture.

“Do you want to leave this place?” Stiles asks, reaching out a hand. Derek pauses only for an instant, and in that moment, Stiles doesn’t dare to breathe. The moment passes, and a corpse cold hand twines it’s fingers with his, a determined set to Derek’s jaw so familiar it makes Stiles soul ache.

Stiles clings to that look, locks his hand in Derek’s and practically drags him back to the river, ignoring all of the others stumbling through the fog.

The river appears in front of them long before Stiles expected to stumble upon it, but he doesn’t ask questions, this is not the place for them. It’s time to leave. He keeps one hand locked with Derek’s even as the other fumbles with his bag, pulling out the rose.

The woman is there, smiling besides the boat, her eyes betray a viciousness that was absent before. He holds out the flower, and she snatches it from his hand, clawed fingers not quite drawing blood as they sweep across his palm. The figurine Is dropped into his hand, and he stops himself before the word thank you can leave his lips, instead biting his tongue and leading Derek into the boat.

The boat moves quickly through the water, running counter to the current. In the blink of an eye they’re at the shore and the fog is receding to reveal an endless tunnel. He pulls Derek up, hope and fear warring for control as he rushes them into the tunnel.

Derek stumbles, but Stiles is too afraid to slow down. He practically drags the exhausted werewolf behind him as he rushes through the tunnel.

“Can we rest?” Derek asks, and Stiles knows it’s been over a week since he slept or ate, but they can’t rest here. He presses onward, ignoring the complaints. Ignoring the growl of his stomach, and the food in his bag tempting him. Determination replaces the chill in his bones, and he drags Derek forward.

“I missed you so much.” The words escape his mouth without him intending to speak, and then it’s a torrent of words, apologies, and thank you’s, and how dare you sacrifice yourself you bonehead.

He speaks unaware of what he’s saying, telling Derek the story of them, he speaks until his voice grows hoarse, and then he speaks more.

He’s yanked to a stop when Derek trips, knees hitting the hard ground. Stiles nearly goes down with him, and when he turns Derek is crying, tears streaming down his face. It takes everything he has not to let the man rest, not to offer him the food resting so innocently in his bag.

“Come on big guy, piggy back time.” He says instead, kneeling down next to his friend, and shifting his backpack around to his chest. Derek climbs onto his back, and he stands, shocked at how light the man feels. He takes one step forward, then another.

Derek’s head rests against his shoulder, but there’s no sound of air, no movement of the chest against his back. Stiles fights back a wave of nausea when he realizes what it means, Derek isn’t breathing, they aren’t out of the woods yet.

He starts speaking again, voice loud and clear in it’s attempt to drown out the silence of Derek’s still lungs. He talks about whatever comes to mind, like the smell of the earth after it rains, and petrichor, the word someone came up with to describe it. He talks about the internet, and researching, and writing essays so off topic, and so thoroughly researched they made Finstock blush.

The woman’s house looms up beside them, and Stiles feels relief flood through him.

“We’re almost there Derek, we’re almost home.” Just as the words leave his lips and the house disappears behind him, he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, a feeling of dread gripping his gut.

He forces himself to keep looking forward, doesn’t allow his instinct to take over and search for the threat. He cannot look for the thing hunting him, lest he wants it to find them.

A chill runs down his spine at the thought, panic threatening to take control of his lungs. He takes a step forward, and another, one after the next until he’s moving, walking quickly away, away from whatever is there.

Silence rushes back in to the space where his voice had been, and he forces himself to hum, to push back the silence far enough to let him breathe again.

It shouldn’t calm the fear threatening to burn through him, but it does. Once the panic recedes, he crouches along the wall of the tunnel, setting Derek down gently and wrapping him in a blanket before shouldering the bag, and lifting Derek up bridal style. He doesn’t have the breath to make fun of Derek for being a damsel in distress, that will come later, they’re almost there. They’re almost safe.

A light appears ahead of them, looming in the distance, and something whispers in the back of his mind. _Run_. That’s all it takes to have him leaning forward, feet pounding into the floor of the tunnel.

He pretends not to hear the sound of a clawed hand scratching along the wall of the tunnel behinds them, pretends not to hear the sound of another set of footsteps.

They burst out of the fairy ring, and Derek is suddenly to heavy to lift. He stumbles, goes to his knees just outside the circle, and nearly collapses on top of Derek. When he pulls back Derek is looking at him with panicked eyes, hands scrabbling at Stiles chest.

“Breathe!” Stiles orders, taking in the slightly blue tinge to Derek’s cheeks. He takes a deep breath in, holding Derek’s hand tight against his chest. “Like this.” He blows the air out, a gentle woosh accompanying the sensation of air leaving his lungs. Derek’s chest rises, and then he blows the air out.

“Thank you.” Derek whispers, and it’s as if they both realize it at once. Derek’s alive, and suddenly they’re both laughing and crying unsure of which one they want to do.

“You’re alive.” Stiles says, and Derek’s stomach growls as if to confirm it. Stiles shoves the food in front of the werewolf. “Eat.” He says, summoning the commanding voice his father uses when he’s in sheriff mode. Derek eats, and Stiles dumps out the food from his bag.

“Thanks.” Derek says again, and Stiles flaps a hand at him.

“It’s just good to have you back.” He shrugs, and they sit in comfortable silence as Derek eats, comforted by the sounds of the forest around them. “We’ll go home once you’ve finished eating.” He promises, and tries not to think about what everyone will think when they find out what he’s done.

**Author's Note:**

> written after reading this list from Tumblr https://hgk477.tumblr.com/post/187209524924/how-to-bring-someone-back-from-the-dead?is_related_post=1


End file.
